


Say That To My Face

by Myrime



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Iron Man (Movies), Marvel, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: 2012, Although He Tries To Deny It, Bar Fight, Bruce is the only one with some common sense, Clint Barton Is a Good Bro, Don't copy to another site, Established Relationship, Fist Fights, Fluff, Friendship, Humor, M/M, Post-Avengers (2012), Protective Steve Rogers, Protective Tony Stark, Steve Likes Fighting, Team as Family, Tony Stark Has A Heart, but if not for the Hulk he would have been right beside them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-11
Updated: 2019-06-11
Packaged: 2020-04-24 16:22:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19176973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Myrime/pseuds/Myrime
Summary: Someone insults Captain America in a bar, and Tony is not going to let that stand. He has not won many bar fights in his life, but these days he has the Avengers to back him up. A night out is only fun when some blood is spilled, right?(If asked, Steve would have disagreed. Instead, they actually threw the first punch.)





	Say That To My Face

**Author's Note:**

> For the [stevetony week](https://stony-week.tumblr.com/) day 3: "any excuse to get me to hold you".  
> Enjoy!

The man in the bar probably does not mean anything by it. Steve has a lot of experience with people saying bad things about him, and not just from the time before he got the serum. It is _fine_. Captain America is a symbol, an icon, and people like to forget that there is a real man inside the costume. Real men make mistakes. If their heroes are not infallible, that is just a reminder that no one is.

Also, the man is drunk. Alcohol is supposed to bring out the truth, but it also suppresses any ability to rationalize one’s thoughts. It makes the lines between reality and what one wishes reality was blur.

So, Steve would have ignored the drunk guy at the bar who is running his mouth on Captain America loud enough to be audible from their booth even without his enhanced hearing. He is not generous enough to say that it does not hurt, but it is nothing he would need to interrupt their nice evening over.

Tony, sadly, does not show the same restraint. He seems to have a radar for people saying bad things about them. If it is just against himself, he shrugs it off, but they have all learned by now that Tony is protective of those he calls his own. Somehow, the Avengers, Steve in particular, made it into that small group.

“What’s that guy saying?” Tony asks, craning his neck to find the source of the slander. He looks upset, ready to do something stupid. Then again, that _is_ one of their specialities.

Steve puts his hand over Tony’s to hold him back. He is not surprised when that gets him a smile but does not dissuade Tony from his self-chosen mission.

“Tony –” Steve tries to prevent any unrest, but Clint cuts him off.

“I think he’s insulting our very fine leader.” Clint’s tone holds something known very well to all of them. He is eager for some excitement, his voice and eyes almost glowing with it.

Tony scrunches his face into a grimace. “That’s not – right.”

“It’s nothing,” Steve tries to mitigate. If Clint and Tony both set their eyes on a target, it usually ends in tears and a blood-chillingly high number of dollars in property damage. “He’s just drunk and doesn’t know what he’s saying.”

“He’s not even slurring his words,” Bruce chimes up, looking slightly guilty when Steve glares at him. Clint and Tony do not need any more encouragement, especially not from the probably most level-headed person in the group. Steve realizes the irony of him saying that about the Hulk.

Just as Steve is going to try to distract his teammates, the guy at the bar says, “What’s so special about him anyway. Bloody lab experiment playing Frisbee.”

It could be comical, the way Tony’s entire being tenses with sudden indignation, especially considering that he had said something very similar to Steve once. _Everything special about you came out of a bottle_. He just really does not like other people using his insults. More so when he has long since apologized for having been wrong.

“All right,” Tony says as he gets to his feet, face clouded with determination. “Hold my beer.”

Steve frowns, looking at the colourful drink Tony has been sipping. “You’re not drinking beer.” That is an important point to make, or so he feels, but Tony waves him off with a dismissive gesture.

“Semantics. Here,” he shoves his glass into Steve’s hand, sloshing him with cool liquid, “hold my completely non-alcoholic beverage.”

If Tony were drunk, at least, he would have a viable excuse for seeking a fight with some poor sod in a bar. The fact that he is sober makes it just worse. Although Steve cannot help but feel a little flattered that Tony would jump to his defence like that. That moment of irresponsible pondering of his boyfriend’s qualities costs him the chance to hold Tony back.

“He’s drunk on adrenaline and righteousness,” Clint says wisely, staring after Tony with open amusement, “that’s even worse.”

With the easy grace of someone who used to navigate bars all the time, Tony makes his way through the room, easily dodging other patrons, eyes set firmly on his goal. He moves with the purpose of someone knowing a fight is inevitable, hands curled slightly at his sides, every step eager.

“Things are about to get interesting,” Clint exclaims with an unholy amount of glee. “I need to see that.”

There is a reason the Avengers, as a whole, seldom go out together. In smaller groups or pairs, yes, but all of them exposed to small places and alcohol seldom ends well. Too much temper has to be contained.

Steve closes his eyes in anticipation of another night ending in chaos and split knuckles. By the time he has taken a deep breath, his whole team bar Bruce is on its way through the room.

“You should perhaps go after them,” Bruce advises calmly, eyeing the situation at the bar critically. He does not look upset or even particularly bothered. This is just another shade of normal for them.

“Come with me,” Steve says, despite knowing the futility of it. “They’re listening to you.”

Bruce smiles softly. “I don’t think a bar fight is the right place for me. I’ll wait back here.” Something wicked in his tone, he adds, “And don’t worry, I’ve got a first-aid kit with me.”

With a curse, Steve hurries after his friends, wondering how this has become his life. Then again, it always has been. Before the serum, it was just usually him jumping at every opportunity to fight, Bucky right by his side. It might be hypocritical of him to blame others for doing the same, just because they are somewhat respectable people now.

From close up, the scene at the bar does not look any better. In fact, the drunk guy is a lot bigger than anticipated. Alcohol, a bad temper, and enough muscle mass to do damage even when hitting blindly is never a good combination. Especially considering how small Tony looks in comparison. Small but ready for anything this guy is going to throw at him.

“Hey, asshole,” Tony calls, not bothering to keep his voice down. “Wanna repeat that to my face?”

Heads turn towards them, waiting for something to happen. When the man looks at Tony, small eyes full of the pointless anger of the drunk, Steve wants to step forward and shield Tony, tuck him into his arms to keep him safe.

“Is there something wrong with your ears as well as your brain?” Tony taunts. His daring is enough to stop Steve in his tracks, ruining his chance of stopping this before the situation escalates.

The man is visibly confused that his drunken ramblings have been interrupted, but he recognizes Tony’s words easily as a provocation. He gets to his feet with slow, swaying movements, building himself up like a mountain in front of the bar. He appears bigger because Steve is worried about Tony’s wellbeing, but even so, he is a massive man.

“Captain America,” the man says with deliberate slowness, tasting the words like good scotch, “is a cunt.”

Someone laughs – it might have been Clint, judging on the crazed delight in the sound – but Steve has no time to wonder about it. In a blur of motion, Tony steps forward, sidesteps the man’s readily raised fist and lands a hit of his own, squarely in the man’s face. At the same time, he uses a trick Natasha taught him, entangling his feet with that of his opponent so all it needs is a small push to bring the man down.

He crashes to the floor with a loud thump, blinking in confusion at his sudden change of position. Tony stands over him, his expression one of remorseless righteousness.

“I think I didn’t hear you correctly,” Tony says, another provocation right there in his voice. “What did you say?”

Quickly, Steve steps forward to pull Tony back. He manages at least a few feet before Tony shrugs him off.

“Let me deal with this,” Tony hisses and turns back, not waiting for an answer.

Unhappily, Steve thinks there would be nothing to deal with if they had just ignored the mindless comments. That man is just one of thousands who must be saying the very same things at this very moment. Being a hero means being held to different standards than other people. Doing his best is not enough anymore. But that is all right. He will still continue doing so.

In front of them, the man gets up from the ground and wipes the blood from his nose. From the bar, four more guys come towards them. Of course, the drunk guy has to have friends. Steve is not exactly worried that any of them packs more of a punch than the first one, but with five of them, there is no way the other Avengers are going to stay out of this.

“All right,” Steve tries anyway, “this is enough.” He is used to making his voice carry over a battlefield, but he might as well have not bothered because no one pays him the slightest bit of attention. “I get that tempers are high, but that’s nothing a nice new round of beer can’t cure, yes?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Steve sees Natasha blink at him with pity plain visible on her face. That is how he knows his attempt at calming them all down has backfired before the drunk guys have even turned towards him.

“Look who it is,” their original opponent says, voice scathing. “Captain Spangled Pants himself. It’s nice of you to come by because we have something to tell you.”

Regarding their physique, Steve is a much better match for him than Tony, but Tony has never liked being pushed out of the limelight. “Oh no, you don’t,” he says, moving slightly in front of Steve as if he needs to protect him. “You were talking to me, remember? And I don’t think I’ve made my point yet.”

The man looks Tony up and down with the kind of dismissive leer that has an instinctive growl rising in Steve’s throat. No one looks at Tony like that and gets away with it.

“You think your money helps you hit less like a girl?” the man asks, clearly failing to see that it is not Tony’s money that makes him dangerous. A lot of people make that mistake.

“Says the guy who’s already bleeding.”

Tony grins the same, utterly delighted way he does right before a battle when the suit closes in around him. Steve almost expects Iron Man to materialize in front of them. Instead, Tony remains as he is, in his three-piece suit entirely made of cloth. No hidden lasers or rockets. Just him.

“Tony, stop,” Steve orders, reaching out to hold Tony back. “There’s five of them and we don’t need to ruin the evening.”

Shrugging, Tony looks as if this is exactly how he pictured the evening going. “ _They_ ruined the evening. And there’s five of us too.” He looks around and finds Bruce waving at them cheerfully from their table. “Well, _six_ , because Tasha hits like three people put in one.”

“What about me?” Clint pouts, coming up on Tony’s other side. All of them are completely ignoring the danger building up in front of them.

“Well,” Tony drawls with a smirk, “your gymnastics will at least make us look good.”

“Are you done?” the drunk man asks, the kind of confused malice glinting in his eye that shows he is not sure what exactly is going on but he is trying to punch it better anyway.

“Yes,” Steve says firmly, “we’re done here. I hope you’ll have a nice –”

“Good,” the man says, and grins to show off his bloodstained teeth.

Everything dissolves into chaos then. The fight should have been over in seconds. The Avengers against some drunk idiots in a bar. What Steve has almost forgotten about these things is the thrill of it, the excitement of a fight that is not about life or death.

Steve sees Natasha pull her first punch and Clint making a complicated looking dance of flailing limbs around his opponent. They are not aiming to end this quickly. They are _enjoying_ themselves.

Just when Steve decides that they are in for a hell of a lecture when they are all back at the tower and sober again, he almost gets hit in the face for all his trouble to stay back and appear non-threatening. Only his ingrained reflexes save him. The rest, as they say, is history.

Distantly, Steve realizes a crowd has gathered around them, cheering on either them or the drunk defenders of the public opinion. It does not matter. Laughter fills the air, accentuated by the groaning of men and the sickening sounds of flesh hitting flesh. It feels like they are fighting against more men than the original five now.

Steve lets his fists fly, half his mind busy with holding back his strength. That means he earns himself some punches, but it is not as if he is not used to bruises. The fight drags on. He sees Natasha grinning and Clint adding insults to each of his movements. He sees Tony dancing, moving with the grace of someone who was formally educated in the martial arts but has not been made to use them with deadly intent. The sight, Steve has to admit grudgingly, is very hot.

Then, though, he sees blood on Tony’s shirt, dripping down from a cut above his eye. That is enough to return Steve to his senses.

“Avengers,” he calls, realizing too late that announcing their identities might not be the smart move. Then again, this fight started purely because of who they are, and if there are still people in the crowd who do not know – well, news travels fast.

“Already, Cap?” Clint asks, obviously pouting as he sidesteps a punch to the stomach. In a blur of motion, he throws the attacker to the floor for his trouble, hard enough to knock him out.

“Yes,” Steve replies, not bothering to waste breath on explanations. If they started this fight to defend the honour of their leader, they might as well have the courtesy of following said leader’s orders. “This ends now.”

The fight is over within mere moments then, which has Steve mentally adding at least half an hour to his lecture about proper behaviour. Natasha takes down the two men advancing on her without even blinking. Not a single hair is out of place as she sidles up to him, expression bored again, now that the excitement is over.

The crowd around them disperses with some disappointment that their evening entertainment got cut short. At least no one is calling for their blood. Steve counts that as a win.

To the surprise of absolutely no one, it is Tony who does not fall in line. He is kneeling over the man who has started this all, twisting his arm up his back and hissing something in his ear.

“Tony.” Steve scowls as he hurries over. “Let go. The fight’s over.”

“It’s _not_ ,” Tony argues hotly, glancing up at Steve for only a short moment before fixing his attention back on the struggling man beneath him. “This asshole here hasn’t apologized yet.”

“ _Tony_.” Steve aimed to sound sterner, but he cannot help the amusement rising up in his stomach. He distinctly remembers the conversation they had when they first started dating and Tony warned him not to get upset every time someone insulted Tony. He said something along the lines of it not being worth it to waste energy on idiots. Steve is sure now is not the time to remind Tony of just that.

In response, Tony applies just a bit more pressure on the guy’s arm, who simply groans in pain.

“Listen here,” he says slowly, “you better not badmouth my boyfriend ever again, because he’s a better person than you could ever be. He’s _good_ , you hear me, and that did _not_ come out of a bottle.”

Steve has to admit, warmth blossoms in his chest at the vehemence with which Tony talks about him. They are still making even more of a spectacle of themselves than they ever should, though. Fury will be, well, _furious_. More so than usual.

“Tony,” Steve tries again, voice firm, “let’s go.”

Stubbornly, Tony shakes his head. “He hasn’t –”

“I know,” Steve interrupts him gently, “he hasn’t apologized, but you’ve sufficiently defended my honour. Let Bruce have a look at that cut now.”

While it is still bleeding sluggishly, it is nothing to worry about. They deal with real injuries on a daily basis. Steve does not like to see Tony bleed, though, and it is as good as a distraction as anything. 

“I don’t –”

Tired of arguing, Steve reaches out to loosen Tony’s grip on the downed man’s arm. Without further ado, he picks Tony up and carries him back to their table.

If he thought that being carried away like an errant child would put a damper on Tony’s petulance, Steve was very wrong. Instead of keeping his head down, Tony sticks out his tongue at the remaining people watching them, before he shifts his position to snuggle closer into Steve’s arms. Steve tightens his embrace instinctively.

“You’re really using any excuse to get me to hold you,” Tony mutters against Steve’s chest, sounding smug but still somewhat disbelieving. Steve cannot blame him. Waking up every morning next to Tony still seems like a dream to him too.

“You see right through me,” Steve answers as lightly as he can, even while his heart becomes even heavier with his growing love for Tony.

“Oi, lovebirds,” Clint calls, appearing right next to them, “we’re taking the party elsewhere.”

Before the mob decides that their heroes beating up some sad drunks in the middle of downtown New York is not something they can let stand so easily. Steve agrees completely. Still, he cranes his neck to look for Bruce.

“Tony’s bleeding.” The worry in his tone elicits smiles on each of his friends’ faces. It does not even matter that they are somewhat tinged with mocking.

“I’ll live,” Tony says dismissively, the way he always is when it comes to his own wounds. “Let’s just get out of here.”

The cool night air is refreshing but makes their blossoming bruises sting. Instead of shame, though, it puts a new, exhilarating spin on their evening. Steve is not irresponsible enough to admit that he might have had some fun, but the lightness of his step is telling in itself.

They have made it two blocks when Clint turns towards Steve and Tony with an incredulous expression.

“Are you really going to make Steve carry you all the way, Stark?” he asks, then pulls his lips into a smirk. “Didn’t think you’d be a sissy because of a little blood.”

Steve half expects Tony to tense in his arms. While he is not exactly shy with publicly showing affection, he does not like to be called out on it, almost like it is something shameful.

Instead, Tony makes a show of getting more comfortable in Steve’s arms. “The cut has nothing to do with it, thank you very much,” he says, full of smugness. ”You’re just jealous no one’s carrying you.”

Clint’s face sours, but when he glances at Natasha in an obvious attempt to persuade her to give it a go, she glares at him so frightfully that he instinctively steps closer to Bruce.

“Not in this form,” Bruce declines immediately, then adds hastily, “Not happening,” anticipating that Clint is going to propose bringing out the Hulk just to one-up Steve and Tony. As if anyone could.

“Aw, does no one want to take the little birdie flying?” Tony mocks, feeling safe enough in Steve’s arms to tease someone who could impale him with a random stick found on the street from a whole block away.

“Next time,” Clint announces in a put-out tone, “I’m not going to save your ass when you anger a whole pub full of Cap antis.”

“As if you would sit out a fight,” Tony replies immediately. True enough, no one who saw him in that bar would believe that even for a second.

The adrenaline of the fight making him reckless, Steve adds, “I’m disappointed to hear that you wouldn’t defend my honour.” He does not want to encourage a repeat of this behaviour, but the looks on his friends’ faces are worth it.

Then, quickly, Clint’s expression sobers. “You sound pissed,” he says, sounding wary. “Let me guess, you already have a lecture prepared for us when we get home?”

Steve nods cheerfully, not bothering to hide his grin at his team’s groans. They really should know better.

“You’re not going to lecture me, are you?” Tony asks quietly, his breath hot on Steve’s ear.

Steve knows exactly what Tony is trying to do. It is working, of course, but Steve has a long memory.

“Especially you,” he responds, voice dipping low. “All night long.” He captures Tony’s lips in a kiss, tasting of copper and _home_. The combination is making him heady.

Eyes slightly glassy, Tony looks up at him. Steve can feel his heartbeat picking up.

“Let’s get home, losers,” Tony calls, never looking away from Steve. “I’m very much looking forward to the after-lecture program.”

Clint groans while Bruce chuckles to himself. Natasha just looks at them approvingly. Despite the completely unnecessary escalation of their night out, Steve is happy with where he is. Among family. Loved.

**Author's Note:**

> Don't ask me where the idea of the Avengers having a bar fight came from. I woke up and just knew this had to happen.  
> You can also find this on my [tumblr](https://blancheludis.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
